Lydia Deetz The Wall
by sm4567
Summary: The story of a troubled rock star named Lydia Deetz, who gradually descends into madness in the midst of her physical and social isolation from everyone. Will she ever escape her prison and find a new meaning in her life? Movieverse AU inspired by the concept album of the same name by Pink Floyd and Roger Waters, with a few twists of my own. Rated for mature themes and language.
1. The Little Girl That Santa Claus Forgot

**A/N:** This is my tribute to two of my favourite things, ''_The Wall'' _album (1979) by Pink Floyd and _Beetlejuice _(1988). The idea to make an adaptation of the Wall into a fic, with Lydia Deetz taking the place of Pink, the main character in both film and the original album, didn't come to my mind until just recently. And once I saw the number of similarities between the two of them, I couldn't get it out of my head.

That being said, it will be mostly an adaptation of the 1982 film, and I will try to incorporate the lyrics as best I can. A few cartoonverse characters will make their appearance as the wall characters. This prologue is told from Lydia's perspective, while the rest will be in third person. And as much as I wanted to say it, I don't own any rights to Beetlejuice or the Pink Floyd concept album. The rights for ''The Wall'' go to its original creator, Roger Waters, and Alan Parker, the director of the film version, while the ones to Beetlejuice go to Tim Burton and Michael McDowell, the author behind the original script for the film. I mentioned all of that so that you can get a picture of what the rest of this fic will be. This is not for younger people, as it is filled with mature themes, disturbing imagery and some smut in later chapters. You have been warned.

Prologue:

_Los Angeles, March 18, 1982_

It was 10:35 A.M., and all that I wanted was to stay in here and muse on the life that I could lead on. A life where no pain would be inflicted upon me, no vile men would try to take advantage of me, or try to pull me deeper in a world of lies and deception. Yeah, that was the word. Deception. This is what lead me to my career as a rock singer, and part-time photographer. Where does the latter have anything to do with me, I will explain later. Much later.

What should I do now, though? Try to call my husband again, or cancel this Saturday night's concert? Or maybe try to cancel this month's Los Angeles tour?

None of these mattered now, anyway. I have a feeling my day of reckoning is coming. But I know there are few people who still want to hear the story of what has been my life. For anyone who's out there, try to feel comfortable to experience what I have seen and you should be the judge of that. All I hear outside from the room, in a corridor of grey walls, is the humming sound of some electric appliance the cleaning lady had to wipe the floor from the amounts of dust that gathered in certain corners in the place. I have a feeling she might come knocking at my door, calling me to answer a few fan letters and the calls of my manager, who didn't need to hear my complaints and make him get a huge fine for not appeasing the advertising companies that promoted my new album and tours in the East Coast.

I guess I will put down the cigarette in my left hand, get off the seat I consider my throne and put on my bathing suit to take a dive in the pool outside. A little swim may take my worries for tomorrow night's concert and try to renegotiate for the schedule of the tour, even though I know it's pretty pointless to stop the show. I am not sure I even went to sleep last night, or do anything than sitting with the TV on, where some old war film was playing. I don't know what's the significance of a old flick like this was to me, but I had a funny feeling inside me that I knew the answer, and it had to do with how my father died.

Careful, though. One final warning to all of you good listeners, my faithful audience. My past is not filled with roses and happy faces, nor it's for the faint of heart, so beware. Beware, and take care.

Now, I hear a new sound, and instead of being in my room, I have a vision where I am in my darkroom, getting ready for one of my concer..., no, one of my speeches, A crowd is screaming, trying to get past the large door that's blocking them. Could it be? My true and only followers, the people who respect my music and try to convey its message to the outside world. It took a few tries, but after a strong push, the door was opened and hordes of people came out of it, running as if possessed by some unknown force I wasn't aware of. Teenagers, like I once was and... and people who couldn't be past the twenties, or the early thirties, hungry to hear my voice sing and fill their hearts and minds with a purpose, a reason to fight the forces that kept them bounded far too long.

''Lyds! Lyds! Lyds!'', they were screaming, not caring to stop on their tracks and help the few of them that were violently thrown about and stumbled to their feet. Like soldiers on the battlefield, they run on to meet with their leader and wait for the next order that will come from my mouth.

I should best prepare myself to welcome the hordes of people who starve to hear my voice and let my music nurture them, guide them through the very lies that kept them in place. Show them why they have to be loyal to me and my cause, how we can all be a force to reckon with. The cruel world that spawned us will pay for the many crimes that inflicted upon us.

Hope all of you who heard my ranting will stay for the rest of the show. Don't be shy, people, come and see what and who made your little Lydia Deetz the person she is now, and what caused her to build the wall and rooms that will never let anyone to crawl inside, trying to endanger my own existence and expose my self to others.

But that dream of being on the other side of my wall was long gone, and sometimes, I am better off alone than being hurt over again. There was hope once, but like I said, it's gone now.

Enjoy the show, and hopefully, you'll make it out alive to tell the tale to your friends and loved ones. It's not every day you get to see the inside makings of a rock star now, is it?


	2. The Tigers Broke Free,Pt1 In The Flesh?

**A/N:** This is the first of many chapters that will cover the content of the Wall album and film, while expanding upon its imagery within the context of the Beeetlejuice characters, though I am not sure how I will incorporate the lyrics in the right place within that chapter, and I think it's best if I have them at the beginning of each chapter and the second song somewhere in the middle. This is a bit of trial and error, as I am not sure it would necessarily fall into the song fic category in the conventional sense, but even if it does, I hope I do a good job of linking the lyrics to the action of the scenes as they were in the original album, with a few tweaks here and there, of course, to accommodate the action the Beetlejuice movie characters are supposed to reenact.

The rights to the lyrics and imagery go to Pink Floyd and Roger Waters, while the Beetlejuice characters are the property of Tim Burton and the Geffen Company. I don't derive any monetary gain from the use of both properties, and this story is only for entertainment purposes. That being said, I hope you enjoy the fic for what it is. Please note that the second song falls into the pattern of scenes and events that take place inside Lydia's mind.

**Chapter 1: When the Tigers Broke Free/In the Flesh?**

Lydia thought she heard her fans calling to her, but when she opened her eyes again, she was no longer within a darkroom, primping herself to welcome the hordes of fans that waited for her outside her room, but inside her own hotel room, still seated in the middle of that place, now staring at the television set, which hadn't been turned off the other night.

She was holding a burn-out cigarette in her left hand, and sometimes her eyes would flicker between the set and the empty space that surrounded her, if one would exclude the mess of clothes, discarded coke cans and other stuff that littered the room.

Tucking one strand of black hair behind her ear, she turned her attention to the TV set and never made any sound the time, her brown orbs still focussed on the action of an old WW II film that was playing. She seemed deeply lost in her thought, but she felt as if she couldn't turn her attention towards anything than the screen in front of her.

A part of her mind screamed to go out and close the damned thing, but her body wouldn't obey and the rest of her brain had no other option than to oblige and remain seated in her place.

Not even troubled by the burnt-out sensation of the cigarette between her fingers, she thought it best to stay there until she could more comfortable within her own skin in an hour or two.

Then, without warning, a voice that seemed to come out from the pit of her own soul, started singing the following lines.

_It was just before dawn one miserable_  
_Morning in black Forty-Four._

_When the forward commander was told to sit tight_  
_When he asked that his men be withdrawn._

_And the Generals gave thanks as the other ranks_  
_Held back the enemy tanks for a while._

_And the Anzio bridgehead was held for the price_  
_Of a few hundred ordinary lives._

Her eyes closed and only darkness remained there.

_Anzio, Italy, 1944_

Now, a match was lighted in the midst of all this blackness, and when it came closer to the face of its owner, it became clear that this was one of the underground bankers and the person who lighted was a soldier, even though at first glance he wouldn't seem to be the type of person who would join the army.

The man was none other than Charles Deetz, a blonde man in his late thirties, who wanted to replace an old friend he helped in one of his business dealings in England. A fine young man by the name of Leslie Dean, who could help convince his father to help the Deetz couple to get ont their feet, after losing much of what their possessions and prestige as a family from the repercussions of the Great Depression, that were still felt to the country, even if two decades had passed from that time.

In spite of what he could do, however, they still got to young Les, only that he would serve in the French area, which wasn't as worst as the situation at Italy were at the time.

Still, Charles couldn't imagine Italy to be far more worse than Hell. Yes, that's how he saw it: It was no longer fighting in the trenches, just serving his time in Hell itself, complete with the sound of gunfire and bodies falling dead to their tracks at all directions.

Pondering what he should do next while rubbing his mustache, he turned his blue orbs to the old radio transmitter and wanted to infer Private ''Smiley'' of his worries for another one of the blasted air-craft attacks these Nazis would try on them. Putting his helmet on, and checking for any wounds he had forgotten about in all this fuss, only finding almost every bit of his grey brown uniform to be in its place, he grabbed his rifle and made it though the little nursery where the wounded were still being treated, making out the exit to see what today had in store.

Once he went up to the ground, he could see the British soldiers going about their way to meet the enemy head on, or half way, depending how one would see it. But the battle took its toll, and it seemed that both sides would only as so much retaliate in a vain effort to have a stronger hold on the other side of the battlefield. As for himself, though not a complete pacifist, he hated war and death in all its forms, even if he was told that this one could help make the world safe for democracy and preserve the human liberty anyone was entitled to. At least, anyone who would still walk the face of the Earth when all this were over, for that matter.

He always wanted to help people and be able to be for them, but he also wanted to be with his newborn child. The word he got from the mail he received earlier this morning was that his wife, Evelyn, gave birth to a baby girl that had a tint of brown hair in its head, though he became worried when he read that perhaps Eve won't be able to live long enough after all the pressure she had to sustain to bring this baby to the world. But there was no worry, because he knew a good friend of his, Moira Mercer, that would take care of his daughter, nurture her and love her as though it was her own.

He thought he heard someone calling his name to him, and he turned to find the source of the of that voice, only to see a corporal yelling at him and waving for him to get back to the shelter. He quickly rushed to get back under the banker from another exit, and he immediately got to work when he got there, taking a seat and listened to the radio speaker, only to hear something about German bombers coming their way, though not exactly stating what type of aircraft actually was. Little it mattered to him, as he got up and urged everyone to take their wounded out of there and get to one of the other bankers next to them.

He ordered three men to stay with him, in case they would be needed for any further transportation that could potentially salvage more of their fellow troops. Once they have made sure the area was empty safe from them, they stayed at their posts and waited for any further commands. They didn't notice that the last troop had accidentally closed off their only exit door from inside the banker, and without knowing it they waited for any further enemy activity that they could tackle on, even if they were only four men.

Little did they realize that the last strike would not be on the ground, but it would be executed airborne, as one of the Nazi aircrafts slowly made its way towards them. The four men all screamed in unison as they saw the plane looming over them, letting go of the bomb in its belly. It was falling towards them and it was followed by a hail of bullets that went though the holes that allowed soldiers to shoot at enemy troops from the ground, decimating all three of them in their abdomen, leaving Charles relatively unscathed, but the horror was still present.

Once the bomb was close enough in his vision, Charles couldn't help it and screamed his lungs out as the bomb landed next to him and the blast took out everything inside the place, leaving nothing but fire and smoke to come out.

No one could have survived from a blast of this kind, not even someone as lucky as Charles Deetz, the person who only to return home and hold his daughter in his arms, but it would not happen, and his child would only know him, for now on, from photographs and other fragments of his past life.

The dream of a loving family is forever gone, living only dust and ashes in the wake for a more fierce nightmare. One that the man wouldn't believe it if he had lived to see it, but he's not, so why bother?

* * *

Lydia woke from her slumber and felt her need to go out of the room and address the hordes of angry fans that protested against a squad of cops and security guards, all of them wanting to see her perform. Once she came out of the open window, an enormous cheer went up from the crowd, it's ferocity throwing the city into a spiral of despair and anxiety as to what would happen during this particular night.

The hotel window was not the one she was in, waiting for the time her concert would begin, but a window that was surrounded by two flags that had two crossed hammers, and under the balcony, a soaring black eagle made of marble stretched its claws in both directions, as if it was made to protect the person who would tame this wicked horde of fans.

A second marble eagle that was reminiscent of the one that adorned Hitler's balcony during the time he was in power, was inscribed in the bars, as if meant to protect the occupant of the room from any attempt on her life

She wasn't wearing her blue jeans, her grey blouse or her all-star shoes. She was wearing a black uniform that was suited for anyone who would attempt to bring back fascism into the grander scheme of things, her black hair was cut short, giving her the look of some elvish princess, her eyes were covered in black make-up circles, and a pair of black military boots completed the overall ensemble.

Having observed the crowd, and the sea of teenaged girls and boyfriends that came to join this little ''party'' with one of the greatest icons in rock music history, the one and only Lydia Deetz in all her glory, she walked around the balcony a few times, gathering up all the strength she needed to call upon her royal followers into doing her bidding. She was illuminated by one of the torches that were placed right between the crowd, giving them the impression that this was indeed more of a rally preparation than just a performer coming to appease an audience from the cruelties of life.

Once she reached to the left side of the balcony, a face of utter seriousness and determination was formed in her face, and she decided it was best to give what the people needed, so she started singing her message to them, hoping that it would also wake the rest of the world to face the ugly truth and the responsibility that befalls on them.

_''So ya thought ya_  
_Might like to go to the show_  
_To feel the warm thrill of confusion,_  
_That space cadet glow.''_

A row of mostly blond girls that managed to be in front of anybody didn't even dare to make a sound and were watching with their eyes locked on their beloved leader, their icon...no, their ferocious master giving one of his speeches, as a way to bring courage to their hearts and fill them with the purpose they thought they searched for all their short lives.

_''Tell me, is something eluding you, sunshine?_  
_Is this not what you expected to see?'' _

The male viewers were taken aback by the hand gestures of the rock singer, amazed at how the tone of her voice would rise and give the right emphasis at the right moment, almost as if she a siren who put them into her trance and they couldn't bear it any longer, leaving them the only option of appeasing this wondrous goddess of contemporary rock 'n' roll, even at the risk of giving up their lives for her. Not that they had anything of value, but most of them were promising, and could take on a squad of cops and have no care for the world if they were got hit in the head, or were shot on sight by the bastards that wear all this authoritarian shit that made no real difference at all in their minds.

_''If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes_  
_You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise.''_

The crowds were now screaming, partly because they knew they were to become the messengers and loyal soldiers in a battle against all the vice and stench that affronted them, and had been a huge burden on the backs of the people who suffered more than the ones who never had the gumption to give it back to the world. They didn't really want to acknowledge what or who they should go after to put the blame on, but they were just so excited to be in that young woman's presence.

_''Lights!''_

_''Roll the sound effects!''_

_''Action!''_

_''Drop it on 'em!''_  
_''DROP IT ON 'EM!''_

And that was all it took for the fans to go completely berserk and start trashing whatever and whoever they found, going as so far as to hurt a young couple who wanted to take a walk that night and the man was bashed to the head by a scrawny-looking young by and his girlfriend, who were screaming obscenities in the name of their heroine, ''Lyds''.

The police tried their best to keep most of the overenthusiastic crowd at bay, and it was certain that most people must have been high that night, to the point where they weren't conscious of whatever they were doing around themselves. They only cared to appease their idol, who stood for a while, and turn her back to them to retreat to her room with a evil smirk in her face.

The bloody mess was carried on as she had planned, and her followers, regardless of some of them being adolescents and teens, were taking it out even to the few minorities that were there, be it blacks, Asians and a few Latinos, that once were beaten to a pulp, their own mother wouldn't probably recognise them from the many hits they might have gotten in their face.

Eventually, the cops were able to apprehend most of the problematic youths and some of them were even female. The majority of the officers were lucky to have worn helmets, while they were some who were fallen victims to the violence of the stoned youngsters, causing a few deaths in the process for both the officers' side and the civilians who happened to be at the time.

The carnage-like event went for another two or three hours, in a night that never seemed to end. And perhaps, it wouldn't be.


	3. The Thin Ice Another Brick In The Wall

**A/N:** The last chapter was part of the hallucinations Lydia will experience throughout the story, much like Pink did in the original Pink Floyd album. I'm not sure if I managed to do a good job at it, because is not meant to be a complete translation of the album, just themes and images that I wanted to incorporate into my interpretation. Another important theme that hasn't been explored in Beetlejuice fics was how Lydia would react to her surrounding enviroment if both of her parents were out of the picture. I don't say that my fic is the definitive explanation of that's how she would end up, but it's just one of the many. There are some historical inaccuracies in order to make the entire storyline work, though I don't think it will ruin the overall experience.

Having said that, and if you really want to say something about it, I would appreciate it a lot if you gave any thoughts about the story and ways I could make it better. I have an image of how I wanted it to be and how close should stay to the album, but I would always love to hear what other people have to offer, and if I can accommodate that to the flow of my story. Either way, the story will carry on as I planned. Only hope that you still like it.

**Chapter 2: The Thin Ice/Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 1**

_Los Angeles, March 19, 1982_

It was now 8:32 A.M and the hotel room that hosted the famous rock starlet, Lydia Deetz, was still as messed up as it was yesterday. The woman herself had no idea how she woke up back to the hotel, after the little stunt that opened her last concert, but she reached to the conclusion that perhaps it was one of her peculiar dreams of hers. The most unsettling aspect of that dream was how she ended up wearing a fascist uniform such as the one she donned for said concert, even more so than how she was able to instill a great deal of fury and anger to her loyal fans and let them go about their destructive route against the police and the minorities of the city.

While she was thinking about that, standing outside the room near the swimming pool that rested there, she decided that a swimming exercise in the pool would be the most relaxing she could do for the moment, since she had already put her red bathing suit almost two hours ago. But it was at this moment to let her yellow towel with the initials of the hotel to fall beside her and actually try to get into the water.

Once inside, she swam for some time, and then she thought she would like to take a break by relaxing near the middle of the pool and stare upwards, seeing the first stars making their entrance into the sky, though the sun hadn't fully set down.

She made an unconscious effort to stay floated in a position that had both of her legs locked together and her hands stretched in either direction, with her face looking up to the heavens. Her black hair was wrapped up in a messy ponytail and she started to feel uneasy for some reason, but it wasn't the water that was causing it. It was the memory of a single man, or more likely a part of her wild imagination.

''What if it wasn't?', the young woman thought to herself, a worried expression now framing her face. She was trying to process through her head who was that man in the trenches in the Anzio battlefield during WW II. She had recalled seeing a few pictures of him with a black-haired woman in her house when she was little, during the time a woman named Moira Mercer took her under her custody as her legal parent when both of the Deetz parents were wiped from the face of the Earth, and her life as well.

Now her mind drifted to images of soldiers falling down either shot or dead in a beachhead, and a few platoons of troops tried their best to protect their base from incoming enemy fire, only getting themselves caught in the crossfire. This time, however, another detail entered the picture of this hellish enviroment, a blonde man who screamed out when he realized that his own time was up once the bomber would throw its destructive element to decimate this man, his companions and their base.

The voice that seemed to come out of the depths of her own psyche provided a chilling song to accompany this brutal image, as Lydia tried her best to piece together all the war images that flooded her mind.

_Momma loves her baby, and daddy loves you too._  
_And the sea may look warm to you babe_

_And the sky may look blue_  
_Ooooh babe_

She felt as though the person singing to it was her dead mother, but it felt more like something that Moira could have come up with. Her worries came true once the blue sky was slowly fading and darkness began to fill its place, as if on cue with this bizarre song she was hearing from

_Ooooh baby blue_  
_Oooooh babe._

She closed her eyes and the only image that filled her mind was only the one of the man she thought about yesterday. She started feeling more strange than usual once a string of words escaped her lips.

''Dad? Dad, its that you? Daddy? Dad, it's me, Lydia. Dad. Dad, where were you when I was born, Did you really die for a bunch of men who never stood on their own and they let you take their ''bullet'' instead of them? What the hell happened back there, Dad? Is there really something that Moira whore, that bitch never told me, so that she could always keep an eye on me? Is it true, Dad. I know you died there, but is it true? Dad, where are you now?

_If you should go skating_  
_On the thin ice of modern life_

''Daddy, noooooo!'', Lydia screamed as she felt as if she was sliding on the surface by some unknown force again and again, never seeming to cease, until her mental image of her screaming father was replaced by the face of a bluish-painted figure, with its mouth wide open, as if screaming to her, or probably echoing the young woman's own scream.

_Dragging behind you the silent reproach_  
_Of a million tear-stained eyes_

_Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice_  
_Appears under your feet. _

Instead of sliding like a few minutes ago, Lydia now began to swirl around herself, disgusted by what she saw of what became of the pool water after her inner realization of the situation. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that the entire water had taken another shade, that of blood red. She became worried that the water was turned into the red color of blood because she had involuntarily taken the burden of the lives of all the men that died in the battle, including her father's, and she made her best effort to stop her manic swirling, but nothing helped her.

_You slip out of your depth and out of your mind_  
_With your fear flowing out behind you_  
_As you claw the thin ice._

It was only after a few minutes that she started moving towards the surface of the area outside the pool, horrified by what turned out to be another one of her hallucinations, which it was confirmed when she turned her head when she came out to see that the pool water was still the same colour of blue as it was. Drying herself, the young woman moved back to her room, and tried to find something else to wear and how she could spend the rest of the day. One she had drown herself completely, she removed her red bathing suit and went to one of the chairs in the room to collect her discarded clothing, since she thought there was no point to throw another one of her booze-filled parties, not when opening night of her tour was tomorrow night, so she needed all her energy for this stunt.

Even though she had contemplated through time to time since her arrival to California that she could contact her husband, or better yet, tell that excuse of a manager of hers to piss off and find some other girl to promote the record company's new line of products, if not actual music, she came to the conclusion that the only best option available to her was buy her time doing something else.

If she wanted to leave the building she only had to inform the reception though the intercom, and any expense she would make for shopping or anything that she wanted to buy. She had planned to dye her hair back into her natural hair color for a long period of time, and if she hadn't time for that today, then perhaps she could squeeze in somewhere inside her schedule a quick visit to a decent hair stylist, because she didn't like the one they had in this hotel.

She only thought that these could help take those nightmares of hers away. The kind of medication she was prescribed to never mentioned any of those side-effects, but she had to know for sure before she went to the big event tomorrow night.

Not much to do after putting on the same clothing she had for the last two days, she went to light another cigarette and go back to her vanity to comb her hair, after unleashing from the black rubber that restrained them. She liked the way her hair were flowing down her shoulders, and once she found where she left her comb, she started massaging her head with it, more relieved that she could get to do something for the moment.

And that's when another memory hit her, one that was triggered when she saw her black hair and she recalled the time she was still a brunette, a time before she even signed her first studio album contract, before all this rock tour and fame shit happened.

She even recalled the voice of her husband, Bernie, when she told him that this was not her natural hair color, and he told her right away that day. what he thought about it.

_I liked them great, but when will get them back to the way they were?'', _was the reply of her husband, when she asked him what color did he liked the most.

Lydia had to contact him on the phone either tonight, or very early in the morning. The last time she called him, he told her that he had to visit a friend of his, but they we'll keep in touch. He promised her that he will wait here from where he was in Hartford, Connecticut.

She only hoped she could make it through the ordeal that awaited her in the next 24 hours, given that she didn't lost her sanity over a few memories that somehow made their appearance and somehow tried to stop her from keep going on with her life and career.

Not wanting to throw herself in another bond of some form of middle-age depression, she continued combing her hair, with her mind flowing to another memory this time. Her childhood at a Connecticut town named Winter River, as she was raised by the last person she considered a mother figure, her father's friend, Moira Mercer.

* * *

_New England, Winter River, CT, 1956_

An obese woman with a little nine-year-old girl in her school uniform were inside the local Catholic Church, which was somewhat deserted, save for another elderly couple and the pastor that went through his everyday chores of making sure that everything was in place.

She sat in one of the long chairs and started mumbled something in her praying the brown-haired girl wouldn't really understand. The girl was left two chairs beside the older woman to play with a miniature plane she had from one of her birthdays. She imitated the wiring sounds of an airplane crashing, landing, taking off and so on, not really caring what her legal guardian was talking about.

_Daddy's flown across the ocean_  
_Leaving just a memory._

The girl then noticed the woman going in another route of praying; tired of looking at her, she continued playing with her plane. A few hours after they returned home, she went to the park, sitting all by herself in one of the swinging chairs, staring at the other kids who were either playing on groups or with her parents, with happy faces and laughter feeling the park.

The brunette girl only had a bitter sense of disappointment painted in her face, and that was only accentuated when she saw a couple of days ago the names of the few American men who participated in the British conflict in Anzio, Italy. She was a bit shocked at first when she came to the name of her father. Despite her age and how people would perceive of her and her attitudes towards life and death in general, Lydia had become at that moment on the kind of person who tried to embrace death as a natural part of life, but never really like this.

She missed her mother, the woman she never got to meet because she passed away while giving birth to her, and her father was also one of the many casualties of the last great war, as many important people wanted to declare, though that wasn't true. And that was case, since all kinds of wars or conflicts were continuing in some form or another, so why did they ever called the ''War to end Wars'', to begin with?

_A snapshot in the family album._  
_Daddy, what else did you leave for me?_  
_Daddy, what d'ya leave behind for me?_

With a single tear staining her right eye, Lydia stood up from the swinging chair and started walking towards the exit from the park, not wanting to deal with all those emotions of abandon and grief filling her all over again.

_All in all it was just a brick in the wall._  
_All in all it was all just bricks in the wall. _

Though she wasn't in the mood to call for any favors from her surrogate mother, it was perhaps the best she could do and ask her if it was alright to go visit the cemetery to find the name of her father. If none of that worked and told her that she was still too young to understand, then once she was older, she would find the ones who thought her father was one of the best men they thought they could spare for the war effort in aiding the British.

She still couldn't believe it, as she was returning to the house on the hill, that both parents will never be with her to see her grow up and be a real family like all those people she saw earlier this afternoon.

She hoped she would be wrong on that account, as much as she convinced herself for the contrary. She only hoped that was the case, after all.


End file.
